Là où le temps s'efface et l'âme s'éveille
It has been a little over a month since I last wrote here, so I will start by saying this—it is so, so very warm as I type this, sitting in our Airbnb in Aix-en-Provence.
(Our, meaning Mama and me.)
From Paris, we took the train south, and though we have only been here two days, my heart already feels as though it has been stolen by summer.
We have so many marvelous places to explore in the South of France before we make our way to Italy and the coastline.
We are simply so happy to be here.
I am so happy to be here.
The last week has been a slow-motion whirlwind.
It feels as though I had been pining for summer for so long, and now that it has arrived, it has done so with such grace and beauty that it is nearly breaking my heart.
As we caught the train from Paris, the city was vibrant yet quiet—a perfect summer’s day.
Departing from Saint-Lazare felt almost romantic, watching the other travelers standing with their suitcases, summer hats, and sunglasses, dressed in sundresses and sandals, all bound for their own adventures.
Escaping the city for the Riviera.
Here, in our home for the next two weeks, I have time to truly rest, recuperate, and think.
To eat grapefruit on the windowsill every morning.
Mama visits the food and fruit markets down the road in the early morning, and for two nights now, she has made us the most delicious handmade linguine, as we sit together in the kitchen, sharing a bottle of red wine.
I stretch my limbs out on the coffee table, my body sinking into the warmth of the evening, my mind drifting.
Each night, I fall asleep with the windows open, the warm air carrying the scent of jasmine and lavender into the room.
The cicadas begin to sing.
France has been the most beautiful home.
I must have lived here in a past life, because it feels as though I have only just returned.
I wrote the note above when we arrived in Aix en Provence.
It is now some time after our holiday in the south of France and I will reflect back on some moments and what we saw some days to almost relive it for a second time.
This was taken on my phone, the view as I typed with the sunlight streaming in, my cheeks stained with tears as I reminisced on the last year and a bit living in Paris. The week before this summer trip, Mama came to stay with us. It was Madeline and I’s last week together, and on the night before we left, I went to see Coldplay at Stade de France—my favorite band. I had booked the tickets on a whim over a year before, not yet knowing I’d still be in the country. It was the perfect final night. Madeline walked me to the station and said, “Okay, well, I’ll see you soon,” before hugging me quickly. Then, with quick-fitted steps, she walked the other way back home, and I was glad—she knew I wished for my feet to melt into the ground and made it nice and quick. I swallowed down the knot in my throat, whispering to myself, “You will see her soon, you will see her soon. This is only a chapter, this is only a chapter.” Later that night, in the stadium, I held hands with the girl next to me as we sang our hearts out. The stadium filled with lights, and harmonizing with tens of thousands of people was exactly what my heart needed. It vibrated through my ribcage, the melodies swirling into all the parts that hurt—the ache that comes with saying goodbye.
Aix is such a quaint town, its streets lined with beautiful boutiques filled with handmade clothing, perfumeries, and artisanal soap shops crafted from the finest olive oil from Marseille. The cobblestone laneways weave through endless cafés, vibrant flower markets, and hidden courtyards, forming a delicate maze interconnected by running fountains. Here, people rest on the stone edges, savoring ice cream, while local puppies splash and cool off in the water. So charming, so romantic—Aix feels like a dream.
We wandered and walked through the suburban streets up the hill toward Cezanne’s atelier and spent the afternoon exploring the grounds and the gardens where he often roamed or painted in the winters. A perfect date for an artist. My mum is a wonderfully talented painter, and I knew this was such a muse for her, too.
His home and studio held so much atmosphere, a living, breathing testament to his artistry. The voice of my high school visual arts professor echoed in my mind as I stood there, remembering our discussions about his work and life—and now, here I was, standing in his home. The furniture, floors, wine bottles, and even old jackets remained untouched, preserved in their original state by his relatives. Every surface bore marks and splatters of paint, every drawer held remnants of his world—including letters he once wrote to Monet, tucked away in the wooden dresser by the window. The entire space felt like an interactive, real-life still life. The wooden stairs creaked underfoot as I spiraled upward, and through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the light filtered in softly, dancing through the trees outside, bringing the space to life once more.
The kind lady at the welcome desk downstairs told me I smelt divine, as if a walking garden—and it made my whole day. The morning before, I had layered wild orange essential oil with a glass-bottled lavender I had bought just yesterday, using them as my perfume. I love scents, how they hold onto memories, and how each place I visit has its own signature fragrance—a way to keep moments alive long after they pass.
Orange blossom + lavender will always remind me of this summer.
On a day tour, we drove through the Luberon region for a few days, and it was nothing short of a dream.
We wanted to stop by every field, every farmhouse, to run free into the living landscape that painted itself in front of us.
Every little town had its own character and charm. I listened to Yann Tiersen and played Max Richter’s soundtrack from A Good Year—a film I watched countless times throughout high school, dreaming of having my own house and vineyard, and that most perfect swimming pool. I even wrote an essay on the film for my world cinema class in university—and now, here I was, parked right by the gates.
As much as I wanted to invite myself in, the grounds now belong to other very fortunate humans.
But in that moment, I realized—I was already living my very own ‘A Good Year’ life.
It had been a very good year. And it is, honestly, a good life.
A magnificent life.
I feel so grateful to see this part of the world, this part of the country that I have called home for the past year.
Each year, I also love watching the Tour de France—partly because I like to trick myself into thinking I, too, could become a cycling extraordinaire, but mostly because of the towns and places they pass through, many of which inspired our road trip.
Visiting Saint-Rémy, where Van Gogh spent much of his time, was also incredibly special. We stopped near Saint-Paul de Mausole, where he admitted himself after the ear incident.
I wanted to cry, standing in the olive groves and orchards, looking out over the exact fields he painted some of his most famous works in, staring at the mountains that once filled his vision.
You never quite know how a place will make you feel until you're standing there.
Van Gogh was an incredible man, just from what you’re able to read and learn from him.
This part of our Provence adventure was the epitome of romance, magic, tranquility, and charm.
One thing I can say about exploring anywhere is this—take your time.
Don’t hold too many expectations.
Don’t set rigid times to be anywhere.
Let your heart—and the winding roads of this gorgeous region—truly guide you.
The following photographs (not in order) are from the likes of:
L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue, Gordes, Roussillon, Les Baux, Lacoste, Ménerbes, Bonnieux, Sénanque Abbey, Saint-Rémy, & Arles.
All I will do now, when I smell lavender, wherever I may be, is close my eyes and see these vast purple fields again. Driving through this part of the country felt like it eased a certain kind of melancholic nostalgia I had been carrying—softened by the dry heat, the deafening song of the cicadas, and the scent of wildflowers drifting through the air. It smelled of summer, of something familiar and fleeting.
Though I was seeing these farms, fields, and winding roads for the first time, it felt as if I had returned to a place long lost—perhaps a place I had only ever dreamt of, one that has now swallowed me whole upon our meeting face to face.
A beautiful abbey we stopped by and walked round on the way to Bonnieux. Monks still live here all throughout the year, their livelihood owed tending to the lavender and the honeybees.
Maybe in another life, I thought.
Gordes looking like a sand castle city from the distance as we drove alongside the mountains into town
Where the cafe scenes were filmed in ‘A Good Year’
Roussillon, Vaucluse is a region higher up where the buildings are essentially camouflaged to match the red, orange and yellow hues of the stone mountains surrounding. This town will have you feeling as though you’re in a make-believe movie set; as though your hands would have traces of sunset colours chalked into your palms if you were to trace the homes and walls with your fingertips.
One afternoon, while exploring Les-Baux-de-Provence, we overheard passersby excitedly talking about a spectacular light show—in a cave! We would have never known about it otherwise—eavesdropping delight!
Intrigued, we drove down from the town, winding our way toward a tucked-away parking lot, nestled right by huge sandstone mountains where the hidden entrance to Les Carrières des Lumières awaited.
And spectacular doesn’t even begin to describe it.
The experience was completely immersive, like stepping into a dream where art, light, and music blended together in a fluid, breathtaking dance across the stone walls. It was unlike anything I had ever seen.
“Les Carrières des Lumières offers unique immersive exhibitions in a world where the boundaries between art and technology disappear. With 360-degree projections and captivating soundtracks, the Carrières des Lumières offer a total immersion in digital art. This innovative format allows visitors to discover or rediscover masterpieces of art in a new form, with striking intensity and proximity. Whether you are a digital art lover or looking for an immersive cultural outing, let yourself be carried away by this exceptional digital experience.”
The following photographs are from L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue, which was actually our first village stop on this road trip from Aix—so, I am a tad out of order here, but isn’t that the nature of adventure? As I type this over a cup of tea, I feel as though I am reliving the trip all over again.
L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue is beautiful, and the Sunday we visited, it was vibrant and alive with food stalls and markets filling the streets. We had a delicious paella lunch (Spain in France!), and the village itself felt like a tiny version of France’s very own Venice—but with more greenery, tiny waterfalls, and a wide, rushing canal that cuts through its charming center.
We sat by the water’s edge, eating our paella and fresh fruit in the warm sun, already plotting our next southern France road trip—one where we would stay overnight in more of these villages. One more day here in this little fairytale town would have been wonderful.
Though you can see the entire center in just an hour, I love taking my time—wandering through local streets, discovering hidden parks, soaking in the quiet magic of a place.
But alas, I am just grateful we had an entire afternoon here.
The village looked like something out of a storybook—flower baskets hanging from the bridges, sun-dappled water, and the sound of cascading streams echoing through the town like an ethereal symphony.
The groves where Van Gogh painted some of his most famous pieces.
taken in Arles where Van Gogh lived for over a year after living in Paris. This was taken just opposite where he painted his famous cafe scene
In the streets of Arles—remember to look up, you may miss something
We ate lunch beneath an umbrella, outside a small, home-owned sandwich shop, while I read old letters exchanged between Theo Van Gogh and Gauguin. The inked words carried whispers of their world—art, dreams, struggles—as if their thoughts had been left behind, waiting to be rediscovered.
Wandering the streets of Arles felt like a quiet dream. The town moved in hushed tones, its locals and visitors alike lowering their voices when speaking of Van Gogh, as if careful not to disturb the echoes of his past. I overheard them wonder aloud—about the parts of his life that were never publicized, about the solitude he must have found while painting, about the secrets he might have shared with the swirling stars.
They spoke, too, of his pain. Of how unromantic his world must have felt at times, how helpless, despite the beauty he created.
Each village we stopped in, lived in—if only for an afternoon—held a different kind of energy. I arrived with no expectations, letting each place unfold at its own pace. And as we traveled through Provence and Luberon, I realized that for a few weeks, we had been living as the sun does—rising and setting with ease, unburdened by time. We had no strict itineraries, no checklists, no need to rush or chase after anything.
Instead, we surrendered to the kind of time-travel magic that these ancient towns seemed to hold.
It was never about simply finding something—checking off monuments, capturing perfect photographs, or chasing after must-see locations. It was about letting a place invite you in. About pretending, even just for an afternoon, that you lived there. About trusting your instincts, letting the streets guide you, and moving with quiet reverence through a place that has existed long before you and will continue to exist long after.
Our only agenda was to be present—to walk, to cook, to listen, to share moments with strangers, to let ourselves fall in love with the rhythm of these villages, and to, even for a fleeting second, consider never returning to where we came from.
That is the dream. That is the magic of traveling the world. Or even just traveling outside your own street, your town, your city.
It is the realization that you need only your senses, your soul, and a pinch of bravery to step into the unknown and find yourself blossoming in the process.
It is the rush of realizing that—for a moment, at least—everything and everyone you have ever known is across the seas, in a different time zone, seemingly on another planet. And that feeling of being untethered, of being weightless, is what saves you.
That feeling of freedom is what reminds you that the world is, truly, yours for the taking.
And perhaps it is this very feeling that can save us in moments when social media threatens to make the world feel small, overexposed, and suffocating—when we grow weary of watching others live, when we feel restless and unseen. The remedy?
Turn it off. Look up. Step outside.
Don’t let a filtered, online world be the thief of your present moment.
I beg you—wander down that path you’ve always wondered about. See where it leads.
“A person does not grow from the ground like a vine or a tree, one is not part of a plot of land. Mankind has legs so it can wander.”
― Roman Payne
